Wesley tightened his grip on the renewed mop, standing shoulder to shoulder with the other cleaners at the edge of the arena.
His eyes never left Gabe, who stood still in the center, a single figure under the looming presence of the beast-box, Instructor Heiron, and the impossible shadow of the owl now watching from a perch high above.
Inside the sealed crate, the guttural scraping continued—steady, rhythmic, like something pacing in rage.
Gabe approached the container slowly, glancing up at Heiron.
The instructor gave a simple nod, then gestured toward the lock mechanism.
But before Gabe could make a decision, an eruption of voices broke the tension.
"THAT ONE!"
"No, no! Pick the one on the left!"
"Gabe, choose the one that was slamming hard earlier, I dare you!"
"Hah! Don't pick that squirmy one, it's way too fast for you!"
"Choose the one that sounds like it's trying to eat the bars, come on!"
"Let's see if your defense can handle THAT!"
"THE RIGHT CORNER BOX! IT MOVED FUNNY!"
"Middle one! That's the one I saw squirt acid last time!"
"Nooo, nooo, go for the one that sounds like a dying goat!"
"Try your luck, Gabe! What's the worst that could happen?"
"He's gonna die if he picks that one, I'm calling it now!"
"Do it, coward! Pick the worst one!"
The cacophony rose to ridiculous heights. Every voice from the student group outside the arena—boys, especially—joined in the madness with no clear intention but to drown Gabe in a storm of conflicting suggestions and teasing chaos.
They laughed.
They jeered playfully.
Some girls even joined in, though less about the creature and more about how Gabe looked like he was reconsidering all his life choices.
It felt more like a betting circle than a training arena, and even Wesley felt a chuckle forming in his throat.
It was like back when he was on Earth, a high school student who could see himself as one of the boys shouting for fun—until Heiron raised a single hand.
"Enough!" he said calmly, though the power in his tone cut through every echo.
Silence fell like a dropped curtain.
"Relax, Gabe," Instructor Heiron continued. "Take your time."
Wesley watched as Gabe inhaled slowly, then exhaled through his nose.
His hand moved toward one of the sigils on the box.
When his hand was near it, he hesitated for a moment, but after a few seconds, he pressed it. At first, he did not press hard, but with the next push, he pressed firmly.
A pulse of violet energy shot out.
The box rattled once, then a metal hatch slid open with a clack and hissed as dense mist poured out.
The creature that emerged didn't crawl—it slid, oozing across the stone with a chitinous shimmer.
It was a massive, unnatural scorpion, easily as long as a horse, but sleeker, lower, more coiled in tension. Its exoskeleton gleamed with dark purple hues like oil slicks under moonlight, each segment layered like jagged armor.
Poisonous steam wafted from vents along its sides, and most striking of all—its tail wasn't curved in the usual way.
Instead, it arched like a poised serpent, ending in a spear-shaped tip that glowed with violent, violet energy, as though infused with death itself.
Wesley felt his throat go dry. He had never seen a menacing scorpion like this before, even back when he was surfing the internet and watching Bug Wars for fun.
Even from the sidelines, he could feel its malice. Like he was afraid to be its next target.
The students murmured again.
"I've seen that one in the back of the box," one whispered. "It—It skewered another beast. In one hit."
"I heard it eats magic cores whole…"
"I didn't even wanna get close to it. I swear it stared at me once and my mana burned for hours."
"No one wanted to be near it after it melted through the cage. That was before Instructor added the vines."
Wesley looked up as Heiron extended his wand.
Green light pulsed from the tip, and with a graceful motion of his wand, he gestured toward the ground beneath the Spearopion.
The arena floor responded.
Roots cracked through the stone like it was soil, curling and twisting upward.
The Spearopion hissed violently as the vines clung to its limbs, anchoring it with crushing strength. More roots formed a cage around its torso and tail, holding the beast in place.
The creature snarled and screeched, flailing but unable to move.
Heiron turned to the massive owl and gave a nod.
The owl blinked, spread its colossal wings, and with a slow, graceful push of air, it lifted off.
Its wings flapped once—twice—sending a powerful rush of wind through the arena as it ascended toward the clouds like a silent guardian returning to its watchtower.
Even its exit seemed to stretch time.
Wesley watched as the bird vanished, leaving behind a whispering wind, the taste of magic, and a silence heavy with anticipation.
"This," Heiron began, turning back to the students, "is a Spearopion."
He raised his wand again, pointing at the violet scorpion.
"A mutated sub-species of the Lurker Scorpion, born from corrupted mana-infused tunnels in the deepest part of the abandoned Arcane Mines. Its tail isn't a simple stinger—it is a highly concentrated mana-spear, capable of extending over a meter in less than a blink. It doesn't pierce flesh—it ruptures it. It tears through shields like paper if your defense isn't properly layered."
The students' faces paled.
"The spear-head is laced with necrotic poison, not just to kill—but to decay. Muscle, mana channels, and even enchanted gear are not safe. If it hits a limb, it's gone. If it hits a barrier, the barrier bends and collapses in seconds."
He walked slowly around the edge of the arena.
"The Spearopion is silent. It moves with fluid speed, without warning. It can bury into the stone and emerge without detection. Its instincts are honed for one thing: neutralization. It doesn't kill for food. It kills anything that moves."
Wesley swallowed. Hard.
Heiron continued, "Most Level Five monsters operate on patterns. They have a rhythm—an opening. But this one learns. It adapts. During my raid, it mimicked my spellcasting tempo to bait me. I captured it only after sealing the entire chamber with rune-root chains and sacrificing three high-tier traps."
The roots around the creature tightened as it bucked, a high-pitched keening noise echoing through the arena as if in protest.
"It is intelligent. It remembers. It doesn't fear. That is what makes it dangerous. Gabe, this will be your test."
Heiron turned to the young knight.
"Are you ready?"
Gabe tightened his grip on his shield and sword. He didn't smile. He didn't blink. He nodded once.
"Uhmm… Not sure, sir"
Heiron was taken aback, but simply nodded next.
"I understand… Focus only on defense. Evade. Redirect. Use every second to study it. Do not attack unless I give the command and you'll do just fine. Understood?"
"Yes, sir."
Wesley felt his heart beating hard in his chest. His mop no longer felt like a tool, but a toothpick next to the things in this world. Still, he couldn't tear his eyes away.
Heiron raised his wand.
He pointed it directly at the bound Spearopion.
"Ready…"
The green glow shimmered once more, and the vines began to retract—slowly, like cautious snakes slithering back into the ground.
"…Go!"